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Liking Life on My Own Account No Better, I Form a Great Resolution

           

           ‘Emma,myangel!’criedMr.Micawber,runningintotheroom;‘whatisthematter?’

           ‘Ineverwilldesertyou,Micawber!’sheexclaimed.

           ‘Mylife!’saidMr.Micawber,takingherinhisarms.‘Iamperfectlyawareofit.’

           ‘Heistheparentofmychildren!Heisthefatherofmytwins!Heisthehusbandofmyaffections,’criedMrs.Micawber,struggling;‘andIne—ver—will—desertMr.Micawber!’

           Mr.Micawberwassodeeplyaffectedbythisproofofherdevotion(astome,Iwasdissolvedintears),thathehungoverherinapassionatemanner,imploringhertolookup,andtobecalm.ButthemoreheaskedMrs.Micawbertolookup,themoreshefixedhereyesonnothing;andthemoreheaskedhertocomposeherself,themoreshewouldn’t.ConsequentlyMr.Micawberwassoonsoovercome,thathemingledhistearswithhersandmine;untilhebeggedmetodohimthefavouroftakingachaironthestaircase,whilehegotherintobed.Iwouldhavetakenmyleaveforthenight,buthewouldnothearofmydoingthatuntilthestrangers’bellshouldring.SoIsatatthestaircasewindow,untilhecameoutwithanotherchairandjoinedme.

           ‘HowisMrs.Micawbernow,sir?’Isaid.

           ‘Verylow,’saidMr.Micawber,shakinghishead;‘reaction.Ah,thishasbeenadreadfulday!Westandalonenoweverythingisgonefromus!’

           Mr.

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